The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1887-11-16

maniac, ana nel -. IIIIlI
between them the little red book.
Unseeing eyes and unguided feet led
her along the oft-trod path to her lone
~ house, and the habit OF years drew
her thence to the room that had been
her only reiuge-hardly more than
bedded den beneath the eaves-but
her own. She was free to use any
room in the house as hers now, but
she did not think OF that. One idea
was in her mind then. She turned the
wooden button on the door, then
threw off, holding fast her treasure in
one hand or the other, her heavy
black dress, barring her neck and arms
to the cool breeze that began to creep
in at the window. Her black hat fell
to the floor but her careless foot
pushed it unseen beneath the yellow
stand. With one strong hand she
drew her rough cot before the
window that looked toward
the west. Flat upon her
back she threw herself, then, holding
her dear volume tightly in her hands
above her head, she laughed aloud.
The laugh broke at the end and the
tears came. She dashed them away
She threw herself upright on her bed;
she laughed again in the midst OF her
tears; she lifted up her book, then let
it TALL she raised it again and-kissed
it'll
With the kiss, the first her lips had
formed in years, the old Lois Crag.
shaw died. The being that for twen-
~ years had first struggled, then beat
and then weakly leaned against the
bars that held it, knew that it was
now free. No more than that, but
that was much.
She did not cry out. She did
not faint. She did not think.
She hardly breathed, but she lay
back in the mingled heat and
GOODNESS and rose color OF that Au.
gust sunset, and let her new existence
roll and revel and sing in her thin,
sick body, till her eyes saw nothing
and her body felt nothing but the
power and sweetness OF freedom.
By and by the darkness came and
covered her as with O. dusky down OF
rest, and with the darkness Lois Crag.
shaw fell asleep.
All night she lay, now awake and
now asleep, ever dreaming the sweet
nameless dreams OF satisfaction. The
morning came, and with it the bright
ening sense OF duty and reality. She
arose and prepared herself for the
days work that the old habit told
her lay long before her. With q glad
heart and singing lips she began her
tasks, and first almost, was the prep
aration of her breakfast.
Osfood she had not tasted for fully
four .and-twenty hours, when kindly
neighbor entering the low kitchen,
without tapping at the door, found
before her an unusual sight. Propped
up against bit OF blue deli was
small red book. All about were the
utensils and material for cooking, and
over them, anxious and careful, like
one who has much at stake, bent
Lois Cragshaw.
"Well, WE'LL" said the newcomer.
"What's all this, Lois. Ye haven't
got no comply, have ye?"
Lois Cragshaw Strengthened her
bowed badly and looked her ques tioner
full in the face.
"What's what?" she said. ''This
yere,"
Her visitor nodded.
Poor Lois hestated moment,
then seemed decided.
"I'll tell ye," she said. "But mind
we, | speak no harm o. the dead and |
speak to you alone. For twenty
years, as near as lean make, this ugly
body O. mine and what mind the good
Lord gin me as well, have been nigh
starved to DEATH"
"Yes, Lois" said the woman pity
ingly, eve all know we've had right
hard road to hoe"
"An' none of the corn when harvest
came, either" said Lois grimly, as
she picked up the red book; but that's
all over now. I've had enough an to
spare. This-since you would have
me tell you true-is The Woman's
Own Cook Book"